


Beginnings

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Series: Almost Never There [2]
Category: NSYNC
Genre: Hiatus, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-10
Updated: 2006-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 05:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/slashfic25/profile"><b>slashfic25</b></a> prompt 8 (beginnings.) Follows <i>Almost Never There</i>. Not real, all made up.</p><p>Once again, thanks to C, A, and two M's this time, Maria and Megan, for reading and commenting and cheerleading.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> For the [**slashfic25**](http://community.livejournal.com/slashfic25/profile) prompt 8 (beginnings.) Follows _Almost Never There_. Not real, all made up.
> 
> Once again, thanks to C, A, and two M's this time, Maria and Megan, for reading and commenting and cheerleading.

Justin's not sure how he manages to talk and eat with JC's words whispering a nonstop loop of promises and desire in his brain. JC hasn't forgotten them either; Justin sees it every time he meets JC's eyes, but dinner is relaxed and the drive to the restaurant and back to JC's are quiet but not strained.

It's dark and still down on the dock, but it's the stillness of nature, where every second there's more and more to hear: the slap of the water against the shore, the splash of a fish jumping, crickets and frogs and the occasional owl.

The wine JC grabbed out of the small kitchen cooler is lush and ripe in Justin's mouth. He hasn't let himself drink in the last year, too afraid of how easy it would be to never come back, and his body reacts from the first swallow, the alcohol sliding rich and smooth through his veins.

"J?" JC's voice is soft and low, every bit as smooth and nuanced as the liquid he's pouring into Justin's glass.

JC had said they'd talk, and Justin wants that, too, but he's lost so much by being afraid, screwed up so much by trying to make things not be the way they are, done it so often and so unconsciously that it feels as though he's screaming when he says, "I want you."

The moon is sliding in and out of high clouds, but Justin can see the way JC's hand tightens around his glass.

"Come with me," JC says quietly, standing and waiting for Justin to follow. The grass is cool and soft under his feet--he remembers endless phone calls from the bus, JC insisting over and over that he didn't care what sod they laid, as long as it felt good.

"We didn't talk," Justin says when they reach the bedroom, and then stops, not sure if his brain really thinks it's important or if it's a last-ditch subconscious attempt to fuck things up again.

JC's taking him seriously, though. "No," he says, breathing in a long, slow breath, like Justin's seen him do when he needs to center himself. "We didn't." He stands close to Justin and asks, "What do you want?"

_You_, Justin almost says. _Like I told you before, spaz_, but something in JC's eyes exposes the half-joke for the cop-out it is.

"I want," he starts slowly, and then has to stop because he's never even let himself _think_ about answering that question, not for real, and even after everything, he almost can't make himself say it.

JC smiles, as if he knows how overwhelming it is, and Justin closes his eyes to hold in the sudden happiness rippling out from that smile.

"I want," he repeats, opening his eyes and smiling back. "I want to touch you." He slides his hand into the curls at the base of JC's neck. JC hums low in his throat, relaxing into the touch, and Justin lets himself pet and indulge, takes the time to let JC's reactions sink into him.

"I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up with you and take you home to my family, and I know you know them already but I want to _take you home_." Justin steps closer, his words spilling out faster with every breath, as if they're afraid they'll never have the chance to be spoken again if they don't go now. "I want what you told me at Chris's, and I want to do the same to you, I want to make you come, to see you and hear you and feel you, I want to find out what makes you scream, I want you to know that about me, I want you, all of you--"

Justin stops talking, not because he's finished, but because JC's mouth is right there, _right there_, and it's so much more important to taste it slowly, lick over every curve, every hollow, until his head spins and he has to let himself breathe.

"What do you want?" Justin asks.

JC takes Justin's face in his hands, rests his forehead against Justin's. "That," he says. "All of that, everything you want."

Justin stands still, lets the words sink into him as his breath slows to match JC's, tries to catch his brain up with reality. JC's hands smooth down his neck, over his shoulders, down his arms, across his back.

"Take this off," JC whispers, fingers dancing light patterns low on Justin's back, right where his T-shirt is tucked into his jeans. When Justin looks, JC's eyes are dark and hungry, unguarded. Justin pulls his shirt up and off as smoothly as he can with hands that don't seem connected to his brain.

"You, too," Justin says, shivering as JC touches him again, skin to skin this time, the flat of his hand skimming over Justin's ribs, his sides.

"Yeah," JC answers softly, and Justin slides his own hands up under the loose, woven shirt JC's wearing, pushing it off and letting it drop to the floor and stopping to _look_, just look at the JC he has now, the JC who's looking back at him openly and with such desire that Justin can barely breathe.

"Slow," he says, words rushing out. "I want to go slow tonight." He's never had that, never allowed himself to want it, not even with JC. As much as it excites him, though, it's harder than he ever thought it would be to know what they're starting--want it and not turn and run.

JC smiles, lazy and unhurried. "Slow would be good," he says, against Justin's skin, under his jaw, down his neck, on the thin skin that stretches over Justin's collarbone. "I'd like that."

His movements are controlled, but his voice is rough, and the hoarse eagerness catches something inside Justin. He can't remember the last time he's wanted to make something happen for someone else, when that something is the same thing he wants more than anything.

JC's wearing cotton cargos, baggy and soft; the button slides open easily under Justin's hand. He hasn't let himself remember much of being with JC, but he knows the long low growl JC makes when Justin touches him; knows it and wants more of it.

But there's no rush tonight. Justin can push him onto the bed, spread him out and slide hands over skin and muscle. He can let JC strip him out of his jeans and lie back, pulling JC down with him, tangling their legs together, catching JC's lower lip in a not-quite-soft bite, just to see if he likes it as much as Justin thinks he does.

In the darkened room, Justin can't really see JC, but he can hear every catch of his breath and that's just as good. Better, even, because Justin's not sure he'd be able to keep his word, go slow, if he could see as well as feel the way JC shivers against him.

The dark makes it simple to slide down the bed, find the spot on the curve of JC's hip that makes him squirm when Justin mouths over it, makes him swear when Justin bites down. It makes it so that Justin doesn't have to think twice about shifting over until he can lick carefully along the length of JC's cock, musk and salt bitter on his tongue. He tastes and hears and feels, wrapped in the sweet darkness of the night, buoyed by the pleasure he feels in the taut muscles against his body, in the hands that fist tight in the sheets near his head.

It's easier to tell secrets in the dark, to gather his courage and stop before JC comes, to rest his head against JC's hip and then roll onto his belly.

"Justin?" JC asks, his voice rough and uneven and gentle. Justin wants to answer him, wants to say the words, but even with the darkness, he can't make it happen.

"C," he whispers, asks, and it's all he can manage to say. JC slides a hand down his back, slow and sure, and Justin knows JC understands, maybe even better than he does himself.

The sheets are cool against his face, his belly, his thighs as he waits for JC, for what he wants; waits until JC covers him with heat, presses inside him, slick and hot. It's what he wants, what he's wanted for longer than he can remember, and he doesn't have to be quiet anymore.

Everything he says, JC answers; every gasp, every moan is heard, responded to. Justin knows that, too, remembers how the low murmurs had filled the stateroom on the bus. It's familiar and right, an anchor against the unaccustomed stretch and burn, a buffer for the adrenaline crashing through him.

JC lets him shift and move, helps him push back against the hard ache that's not quite pleasure, not yet. He tells Justin he's beautiful, gorgeous; touches him with hands that find and remember what he likes best, even when he doesn't know it himself, not stopping until he comes, shaking and crying and spent.

JC moves in him deliberately, carefully, his voice shifting from soothing and calming to possessive and desperate, but always, always familiar. This time, Justin holds tight to every word long after JC falls asleep, until the darkness lightens with the new day.


End file.
